M:TG, The Demon Chronicles
by DUrza9178
Summary: A collection of short stories revolving around the lives of famous M:TG Demons, mostly origin stories. Not for the righteous. Rated 'T' or 'PG13' for violence. R&R, please if you dare.


Magic: The Gathering, The Demon Chronicles: Yukora's Sentence

Disclaimer: I do not own Magic: The Gathering and its characters. This short story was my idea, though...

"For the last time, Oni, why did you do it?"

"Read my lips, mortal: I felt like it, and it felt good." came the reply.

Eerie silence filled the meeting hall of Okina from the many monks and druids that night as the huge creature suddenly spoke. It was an oddity to find an Oni in this sacred place, as the budoka and kannushi of Okina diligently made sure it was one of the safest buildings in Kamigawa. The demon in the hall was either invited in or captured to await a cleansing ritual.

The Oni was similar to that of his kind. He had the signature horns and a third lidless eye that marked all of these spirits. Strangely, he had what seemed like a bunch of metal links and shackles clamped and pierced around his body in a painful fashion. Despite all these body 'modifications', the Oni ignored their added weight, and merely bared his fangs from his pierced mouth in a twisted sneer as he answered the monk's question.

"That wasn't very nice, Oni." returned the wizened monk to the demon. "This is the tenth time this month when my budoka have reported of your random acts of violence."

"What can I say, mortal? That's what we Oni do."

"You're different though, Yukora. Every Oni I have heard about from the Kami mostly relied on the muscle of their Ogre and Human worshippers for killing. And get this, they're only mortal."

"And your point is, Mortal?"

"From what I have gathered from my monks, you killed all those people yourself. You ripped apart the population that lived in the fishing village of Bani..."

"Uh-huh..."

"...maimed the whole army of Eiganjo stationed near the Sokenzan..."

"Right..." Yukora was getting bored upon hearing his 'achievements'.

"...and ate the defenseless family having a picnic in front of the Temple this afternoon. That was very spineless."

"I was having a light snack, is all." he shrugged.

"Basically" the old monk concluded, "...we consider hands-on oni like you to be more dangerous than the average variety. As the Okina Head monk, I say that you're too dangerous to exist. Thank goodness we captured you before you caused anymore damage."

Upon hearing these words from the head monk's mouth, Yukora's smile widened further. "On the contrary, old man..."

In one swift motion, Yukora broke the shackles that linked his hands and simultaneously punched the two monk night watchmen on his sides, knocking them both on the walls unconscious.

"...I only let myself get caught because I heard this was the tastiest joint in Jukai."

In response to Yukora's aggression, the remaining Monks rushed to the front of their aged sensei, trying to defend him from any punches and goring. One began to chant in an obscure nippongo-like dialect. Three warmed themselves up and readied their battle stances for their martial arts. Two each released their familiars: a minor Kirin and a brutish squirrel covered in moss. The rest bared their weapons in hopes of intimidating the Oni.

This is going to be a piece of cake, Yukora thought.

He took one of his pierced chains and swung it onto the spear of a monk. It wound like a cold grey tentacle around his weapon and forcibly jerked the man (still attached) face first towards the gnarled purple mass that was Yukora's fist. The monk's body slumped facedown on the Oni's feet. One of the martial artists, distracted by the sudden death of his comrade, never noticed his friend's OWN spear zipped through his chest, striking him dead.

The chanting monk wasn't unnerved. She released a spell with a green shade that wove through Yukora's limbs. The spell formed stems of nettle vines which restrained the Oni's hands, keeping him from making any more punches. More vines clawed and brought Yukora down to the floor. Her male counterparts thanked the Kami that Yukora was in his solid form, as some ganged-up on the Oni. The monks' attacks began to inflict damage onto the Oni's already mutilated skin.

Yet Yukora was not as dumb as he looked. He may not punch, but he can still kick. He flexed his muscles snapped the vines. Then the Oni's feet flapped and gave a three-hundred-sixty degree slide kick around his locus, knocking down the budoka. He stood up and began mashing some fighters with his once-again bounded fists like they were one heavy mace.

The squirrel-thing roared and lunged at its master's command towards the horned one. Its teeth found home as they chomped on the Oni's fists, forcing itself not to let go. Yukora retaliated, biting the beast on the neck. Though no blood flowed from the mortal wound, it gave the squirrel quite a shock and loosened its clamp. He spun and flung it back towards its master, crushing him under a ton of green mass.

The release of the squirrel beast's teeth sliced off the nettle vines that bound Yukora's fists, freeing them once again. He fashioned his claws and had a go at the charging Kirin that ran towards him. Blood finally erupted where the sharp nails sank on the Kirin's side. The Kirin neighed in pain. Yukora, relishing the horse-like spirit's suffering, licked globules of the Kirin's divine river as it struggled from his defiling grip.

The Oni found new vigor from the vitality he derived from the Kirin's blood. What followed was a flurry of slashes, punches, kicks and goring that even the quick heal spells invoked by the resident kannushi couldn't prevent: a bloodbath which would be talked about for many years and officially written on the body of Reki himself.

It wasn't long before the only thing that stood between the Oni and the old monk was the same kannushi who bound him with the stinging nettles. The bodies of the other fighting monks littered the floor. Feeling full of himself, Yukora stomped towards the female druid and prepared to help her join her fallen comrades.

Just because the kannushi was alone, didn't mean she was defenseless. Before the Oni took one step further, the druid skipped towards the nearest Shisha statue and proceeded to lift it from its base. It was obvious from the statue's size that it would have taken three healthy people to lift it. The druid though easily brought it up her shoulders and flung in on Yukora's head. The statue shattered into many pieces, crumbs shot through the Oni's body like shrapnel, though he showed no sign of stopping. Yukora brought a clawed hand at the kannushi, yet she merely took hold of one of his fingers and threw him on his back like a judo master, making the Oni crash to the floor and breaking the wooden planks.

Yukora admired the human who gave him the most challenging fight. Feisty and cool, he thought. Though being merely feisty and cool wasn't enough. He lifted himself up and spotted the carcass of the rapidly disintegrating Kirin. With a whim of his finger the remaining blood that flowed from the carcass floated and formed a crimson orb. The druid was puzzled as he waved the orb towards her. The bloody ball obeyed, and it splattered all over the kannushi. The woman screamed as the once divine ichor started to weaken and cripple her. Her suffering ended when Yukora finally grabbed her along the waist and proceeded to bite off her head with a sickening crunch. After swallowing the rest of her body, Yukora walked to face the remaining monk.

"Looks like you've run out of options, old man." The Oni sneered, but the monk remained calm despite the carnage. "Here I am, amid the bodies of unworthy monks. Here you are: the most revered budoka of Kamigawa, and the Myojin's pet. What a prized treat for my palate". Yukora wasted no more time and proceeded to grab the monk.

"I think not, Yukora." he replied.

The monk took a piece of paper from his hand and threw it onto the Oni's forehead. The velocity of Yukora's hand immediately stopped when it planted onto his skull. His whole pierced body immediately froze.

"What kind of magic is this!" Yukora frantically asked.

The paper burst into a million streams of light which enveloped the Oni with soft radiance. Slowly the light rendered him invisible from the bottom up.

The monk began to describe. "This magic you speak of, Yukora, is the collaboration between the Okina monks and the Kami. We observed that since you independently slay the innocent, we figured that it took the innocent to imprison you."

"Imprison ME?"

"This spell has been created from the signatures of a hundred children, each still in training to be an addition of the Okina monks. As long as at least one of them is alive, you can never be free to take anymore lives. "

The Oni thought about this and smiled once again. "Oh yes, old man. But don't forget: those monks never live long Unnatural lives like you. I can wait for my freedom. And if I would ever see the soft soil of Kamigawa, you will be the first snack I'll stick in my throat." Upon uttering these last words, Yukora's mouth faded from view and his third eye suddenly winked on his promise as it vanished into thin air.

The hall fell silent once again, the shadows of the littered bodies flickered with the oil lamp flame that lit it. The monk considered the Oni's vow carefully, and then merely dismissed it as a natural process. He stood up and slid open a screen door which revealed five of the shivering monks-in-training, who obviously stood and watched the chaos behind the screen while praying that the Oni stopped.

"You five, you shouldn't be here. It is way past your bedtime." The monk told the children. One of them stood in front of him and bowed "Master Dosan, is the demon Yukora gone?"

"For a long, long while, yes. You just have to have faith with the kami that he would."

"What of our dead fellow monks, Master? They didn't deserve this fate."

"It's the way life goes, little one. Thankfully, they kept the Oni from killing all of us.

Go on, go to your quarters." He ushered. "I'll send for the cleaners to spruce up the hall in the morning and incite prayers for our departed brother and sister monks"

The monks-in-training obeyed Dosan, but with heavy and mournful hearts.

Somewhere in a place that is neither that of the Kakuriyo or the Utsushiyo, a dark oubliette-like place, the unearthly sadistic laughter of Yukora the Oni resonated as he anticipated his time.


End file.
